CHI
Toorak Road, South Yarra
Melbourne

Nearly thirty years ago a culinary character was born. His name was The Hungry Hinch. He first appeared, reviewing restaurants, for The Sun newspaper in Sydney. His debut was made a bit easier because a bloke named Derryn Hinch was the new Editor of the paper.

The Hungry Hinch wrote some tough reviews along with his dining partner – his wife Eve, whom he called The Adamant. As in the Adamant Eve.

My review of the revolving restaurant at The Summit skyscraper, way back then, started: If nothing else, and there is nothing else, the view is fantastic.

On another occasion, after a tough review of an execrable Indian restaurant in Paddington I received an irate call from a Peter Sellers sound alike who didn’t realise that Hinch the Editor and Hinch the restaurant reviewer were one and the same person.

He remonstrated: The Hungry did NOT have the beef vindaloo. The Adamant had the beef vindaloo. He also obviously didn't realise that people do share dishes in Indian and Chinese and Japanese and Greek restaurants.

Anyway, the Hungry Hinch is back. Sir Hinchalot has been diagnosed with a fatty liver and has retired hurt.

It’s appropriate, because The Hungry Hinch started thirty years ago – around the same time a string of home-style Italian restaurants opened in Toorak Road, South Yarra, in Melbourne.

For at least twenty years there have been three of them. The trio of Trattorias. I remember when I was broadcasting HINCH from the Como Centre across the road, in the early 1990s, these three adjacent “pasta palaces” would be doing a roaring trade. Weekdays and weekends.

Recently, one of the three teeth was pulled. One of the trattorias has been transformed into a stunning Asian (mainly Vietnamese) eating-house. The décor is light and white and airy. And, although bamboo sounds corny, they have used it very cleverly. And they have some of the most comfortable chairs I have ever sat in.

The restaurant is called CHI. My Scrabble memory (and I did write two books about the game) reminds me that “chi” means energy. And this place has plenty of that. I am also told that it is an acronym for the names of the three owners – which is far less exotic.

The wine at Chi is cheap. The food we tasted – via a “taste plate” ($23 for two) was just what I felt like.

Soft, almost translucent, rice paper rolls with prawns, vermicelli and lots of mint, served cold.

Their ubiquitous spring rolls were surprisingly light. And a dish I usually shy away from – curry puffs – was also light and tasty.

But my favourite was something I had never heard of and would never had ordered if it hadn’t been part of a sampling plate. It included the word” betel”. Now, I equate betel with images of toothless old Vietnamese crones, dressed in black, with mouths stained red from the narcotic fix of betel nuts. Almost an Asian Kava.

At CHI we had a dish consisting of ground beef wrapped in betel leaf. It was a stunning dish. I’d go back just for that.

We also shared a “serious” dish: a main course of steamed and then crisp fried duck served on a bed of Asian greens and spiced with a blood plum and cinnamon sauce.

I enjoyed it. My dining partner (pretty, weight-conscious female) called for a knife and fork during a chopsticks meal so she could carve off some excess fat. But that happens with duck dishes.

I didn’t get to their desserts – like coconut custard with ginger ice cream. But I shall. I also would go back to try the slow-cooked spatchcock in five-spice powder, white wine and soy.

I started this review talking about things from thirty years ago. A complimentary expression back then was that something was “chi chi”.

Well, CHI is chi chi.

February 27, 2004